


First Encounter

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Equilibrium (2002)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-04
Updated: 2005-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First meetings and secrets untold. Preston/Partridge implied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tigerlady

 

 

Note on spelling: The back of the case I had for my EQ DVD had "Clerick John Preston" and I've kept that convention to emphasize that these are not 'religous people' as such.

"...by utilising the forth kata in this situation, you will increase your effective range and so render the maximum number of assailants incapacitated in the minimum amount of time, increasing the overall efficiency of the clerick by a projected minimum of 33.68 per cent."

The Clerick's voice droned on and John Preston licked his lips and tried to keep his focus on the precise motions of the gun kata. He was a Clerick of the Second Class and lacked only the assignment to a Clerick, First Class to start the final stages of his training. Which of the twelve Clericks currently ranked at First Class he would be assigned to had yet to be decided. So this gathering had been staged.

Twenty-six Clericks, Second Class, pivoted and stepped into the blow in perfect order. Without consciously thinking of it, Preston's gaze slid sideways and along the black-clad figures that lined the training mats. And, as it had every time the steps of the kata brought him to face this direction, his eyes were drawn to the flash of golden hair. Clerick Errol Partridge. A living legend and one of the two Clericks credited with the development of the gun kata. Every Novice learnt his name as part of the rote learning in the earliest years of training in the Monastery and Preston could remember the raspy growl of his instructor and the man's homilies on Clerick Partridge, paragon of Father's teaching and hero of the new Libria.

The pictures on the data-screen had been intriguing but nothing had prepared Preston for the man himself. Clerick Partridge moved with the lethal, quiet grace of the old jungle cats that Preston remembered from his childhood - before the old documentaries were declared EC-10 rather than EC-06 (restricted). Even among these, the greatest of Libria's defenders, he stood out. Instructor Dupont was standing beside Partridge and the taller Clerick leant over to speak softly into the Instructor's ear.

Preston spun into a kick, designed to snap an opponent's atlas vertebrae, and pondered his impressions of the senior Clericks. Partridge was everything a Clerick should be but the others... were frankly disappointing. Silvered hair and the slow, stiff strut that suggested old injuries to bones and joints.

Another half-step, pivot and the guns clicked on empty chambers - using live ammunition in these circumstances would be wasteful and inefficient. Preston and the other Second Class Clericks rose back into the ready stance. Dupont's voice interrupted as they prepared to restart the kata. "Enough. That is sufficient for today's exercises. You are dismissed."

Preston relaxed slightly and began the stretches to cool down - the kata was intricate and required much focus but he no longer found it challenging. His peers were already filing off the mats, presumably to clean themselves and spend a few hours working on their more recent assignments. Preston noticed that the senior Clericks had withdrawn and wondered absently what this meant with regard to the assignments then dismissed the idle thought and resumed the stretching.

There was always a chill in the training area and as Preston moved slowly through the approved series of stretches, the sweat that had accumulated during the practice of the kata was becoming clammy and cool. The sensation was not entirely unpleasant but it was... _different_. So Preston was not at all prepared for the sudden purr from approximately three point eight centimetres directly behind his right ear. "John Preston?"

He spun around, left arm automatically rising into the sixth position; kata position 6b - intended to increase the damage to the throat's cartilage by eight point four per cent. The blow was deflected easily and Preston froze, feeling hard muscle in the arm that had hooked around his and stared into dark, amused eyes. Partridge looked at him for a few seconds, head tilted quizzically before releasing him and stepping back.

Preston blinked; staring at the older man with wide eyes and feeling his heartbeat accelerate. He shivered suddenly and straightened to the correct posture, hands loosely clasped behind him. He was suddenly aware that the loose, unrestrictive trousers that he wore looked most undignified when compared to the neat, precise lines of the stark black uniform the other Clerick wore. Partridge looked cool and unruffled and for some unfathomable reason, Preston felt his cheeks grow warm. A golden eyebrow arched quizzically and Preston realized with a start that the older man had said something. He fumbled for a moment then managed a carefully neutral "Sir?"

"You _are_ John Preston?" Partridge's voice was mild, a genial rumble that made Preston shiver again, despite the fact that the surrounding temperature seemed to be as constant as ever.

"Yes, sir." He said smartly, resolutely dragging his eyes away from the dark figure of the Clerick to stare at the column behind them. "How may I be of assistance, Clerick Partridge?"

"You could start by addressing me as Errol."

Maybe the temperature was rising a trifle, Preston thought, or perhaps he was succumbing to a fever. He blinked again, aware of the fresh sweat beading on his skin. "As you wish, si-Errol."

The older Clerick smiled and Preston licked suddenly dry lips. "Excellent. Do you object to my addressing you as 'John'? Working relationships function so much better with a degree of informality."

Preston felt his jaw drop and his mouth worked soundlessly for a minute before he regained his composure enough to ask in a level voice. "Working relationship?"

"You have been assigned to me." Clerick Partridge said lightly. "Until one of us becomes unfit for duty."

Preston blinked again, aware of the faint tremor running through suddenly taunt muscles. "Assigned...?"

Cler-Errol tilted his head again. "You would rather be re-assigned?"

"No!" Preston licked his lips again and shook his head. "I am ...perfectly content with the assignment as it stands."

Errol looked him over, eyes dark and assessing. Preston straightened as much as he could and tried to keep his breathing even. The dark green eyes seemed to see clear through to Preston's deepest, most private thoughts, leaving the younger Clerick naked and vulnerable in a potentially hostile situation. Then Errol looked right into his eyes and Preston frankly stared.

He was used to the guarded blankness in the eyes of his fellow Clericks. No Librian was above the laws and one of the first lessons learnt in the Monastery was that, often, sense offenders revealed themselves in a chance meeting of eyes. Clericks could not be sense offenders of course, the mere idea was ludicrous, but as the years passed and more and more of the people the young Clericks had grown up with were revealed as sense offenders, the Clericks grew less trusting, more analytical, more guarded. They spoke carefully with words chosen to meet the approval of the Clericks who monitored their every waking moment.

Errol was different. His eyes were shadowed, deep with secrets but he didn't seem to be hiding them. Preston stared back, lips parting in unconscious question and he had the strangest impression that the secrets were not hidden but simply incomprehensible and that Errol was almost daring him to understand. Confused, intrigued and thoroughly enraptured, Preston stared back. Another tilt of that golden head, hair shifting under an inadequate amount of gel and the dark eyes brightened to a pale blue-green as the smirk widened and warmed to the friendly smile that Preston would treasure in the future.

The older Clerick actually laughed before starting to unbutton his long coat. "Then, perhaps you will oblige me with a brief sparring session? It is only sensible that we learn each other's style."

Preston watched, flushed and flustered by this turmoil of new sensation, as the older Clerick stripped down to his trousers, reveal taunt muscles coiling under golden skin. He could only lick his lips and nod as the older man took up a defensive stance in front of him. The smile faded, lingering in the creases around Errol's eyes as he challenged Preston wordlessly. The younger Clerick took a moment to ready himself and they were off, dancing through the steps of the fifth kata.

**Epilogue**

_Outside, a city burns in the fires of its own pride. The man watches through an open window as fire blossoms among the starkly functional buildings, turning the grey sky into a vivid swirl of red flame and black smoke. Behind him, scattered on the marble floor, dead guardsmen litter the floor like so many discarded puppets - the strings cut forever. Vivid red blood stains the immaculate white stone._

He holds a ribbon in his left hand as he watches the city he has fought and killed for ignite in the fire of anarchy. He is thinking of a ruined church and a pair melancholy, tired green eyes weighted down with secrets. He raises the ribbon, catching the faint scent of sweat and the fading trace of his partner's scent, and presses it to his lips.

He looks back out at the chaos and remembers that friendly smile and summons one of his own.

"For you, Errol. For you."

 


End file.
